


Friends of the ABC

by Prisonerofthemoon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, enjoltaire - Freeform, exr - Freeform, this gets kinda sad sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:12:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prisonerofthemoon/pseuds/Prisonerofthemoon
Summary: Enjolras is just trying to find his purpose in life. Who knew that a singing man in the apartment above him brings that purpose out of him?





	Friends of the ABC

**Author's Note:**

> This is severely unedited. I literally just finished this and decided to post it. Hope you enjoy it!

It all started the one night he decided to take his work to the balcony. He was always writing at his desk, or on his couch, or on the floor. But he had read somewhere online that fresh air and the nighttime sky can give your mind a “creative restart”. So, Enjolras moved his things to the balcony and settled into his cheap, plastic lawn chair. (Courfeyrac home-warming gift from around a year ago) He typed on his laptop for a while until he eventually got lost in thought about pre-revolutionary France. 

 

The thing was, Enjolras forgot he lived in a duplex most of the time. His neighbors were never loud- unlike the complaints that Combeferre tells from his duplex a few blocks down- and he’s never met or seen any of them.

 

So, when he heard singing from up above, he thought it was some higher omnipotence reigning down on him.

 

The voice was soft, yet ragged. The neighbor above him strummed what Enjolras assumed was a Ukulele. He had a thick accent, but even so, Enjolras couldn’t make out the song.

 

The strumming was slow and and melodious. Dragging himself over to the ledge, he stared up at the few and sparse stars lit up in the sky as he listened to the soft voice.

  
  


“How’s the novel coming along?” Ferre asked conversationally. He flipped through a book that Enjolras suspected was human anatomy.

 

“Good.” Enjolras said distractedly. He wasn’t sure at this point why he had come with Combeferre and their friends to the bookstore. He had said it was to research for his novel, but he was just running his fingers over the titles at this point. He hadn't pulled a single book off the shelf. He noticed Combeferre peering at him over his glasses.

 

“You didn’t get that far, huh.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that.”

 

Ferre snapped his book shut and placed it back on the shelf, fishing through the rest. “No one said you had to write a book, Enj.”

 

Enjorlas scoffed. “Yeah, well no one said you had to go to college either, and yet somehow, I was peer pressured into it.”

 

Combeferre nodded with a gesture of “touché”.

 

Enjolras continued to skim through the books, not reading a single word. He found himself humming after a while. A simple three beat pattern. Wait.

 

“What song is this?”

 

Combeferre shrugged. He walked around the corner in search of Courfeyrac and Marius. They stood in the mystery novel section.

 

“Do you know what song this is?” He repeated to them. They both thought for a second, until marius snapped his fingers.

 

“Blackbird! The Beatles, I think. You know, ‘ponine loves the Beatles. Apparently she got most of her friends into it. I’m not too big of a fan myself but i think Yellow Submarine is an okay song…” Marius’ voice drifted out of Enjolras’ earshot as he thought. This was the song that his neighbor was singing. He couldn’t tell the words because of his accent (he never could understand accents. He blames the normality of pompous english accents), but it was as clear as day now.

 

He didn’t really notice Marius was still talking as he tuned him out. He was trying so hard to listen to the song before he forgot it. Maybe he was biased, but he much rather enjoyed the version he heard last night than the actual song. He never really listened to the Beatles anyways.

 

After that, Enjolras soon forgot about his upstairs neighbor. He had to keep up with his internship at the office. Even though this mostly just meant organizing papers and possibly reading over for spelling errors if he was lucky.

 

When Enjolras was in high school, he had absolutely no idea what the hell he was going to do with his life. He knew he had to attend college for something, so he picked the first thing he knew he was good at. English. Then slap on a concentration in journalism and a history minor and there was his degree. What a waste of tuition and 4 years. He was just now in a summer internship before his last two semesters of undergraduate, and he still doesn’t know what he wants to do. Somehow, his advisor convinced him that writing a novel would send him in the right direction. She gave him until the end of the summer after his senior year to publish it. She said it will “guarantee a path in the right direction towards a sparkling and bright future”.

 

Enjolras has written 50 pages of his novel, but he still has no idea what it’s about. When rereading it, it all just seems like a menagerie of hi thoughts. Sure, he could write about himself, but that should more or less be along the lines of a memoir- with a developed plot and structure, not a stream of consciousness.

 

It seemed to Enjolras that all of his friends had their lives planned out. Combeferre knew he was going to be a doctor since they were children. Courfeyrac has always been into culinary arts. Marius chose accounting. Bossuet and Joly were gonna start their own business. Musichetta was going to manage them. Feuilly wants to go to law school. Everyone had a plan. Except Enjolras.

 

If anything, he felt more as if he was stuck. He liked English and writing, sure, but it didn’t give him that feeling of purpose he had always imagined. Everyone had a career picked that would help and benefit people. What does writing a novel do? Entertainment, he supposed. Learning experience, surely.

 

He didn’t want to slave away at a desk forever.

 

Definitely not at a small, oddly shaped desk, in an uncomfortable chair, did he want to be for the rest of his life.

 

But there was no use in complaining. He has no other choices. 

 

For the majority of the summer, Enjolras buckled down and worked through his internship, feeling like he received no experience at all. He also managed to write an additional 70 pages, that made no plausible sense unless one assumed it was his diary. At one point, Enjolras remembers reading his own complaints about the office’s cheap staplers, and the division of leadership he noticed on the board of committees for the business. That part he will probably have to cut out in editing.

 

It was only a couple days into the new semester that Enjolras had gone out on his balcony again. Summer was drawing to a close fast, and so he assumed he better enjoy it before he would be bombarded with assignments again.

 

He leaned against the railing on the balcony, his mug of hazelnut coffee in hand. The sky was still a navy blue as the sun had just set, but clouds covered the sky. And then he heard it.

 

The most euphonic tune he had ever heard. It was some string instrument, but he couldn't tell whether a violin or viola. It came from above, and when he looked up he could just barely see an green clothed arm clutching the neck of some string instrument. Enjolras dared not move, purposely staying as still and silent as possible.

 

The melody continued. At some points, an odd note would sound and it would stop at once, a whispered “shit” uttered and a pause before continuing.

 

Enjolras stood out there for hours listening to this person play, eventually slumping up against the railing as he was too tired to stand anymore.

 

Eventually, the music stopped for good and he heard a bit of shuffling around and then a sliding door open and close. He decided as well to head back in. Setting his cold mug in the sink, Enjolras then climbed into bed. Before his eyes closed, he caught a glimpse of the clock.

 

3:42 am

 

Not only did he oversleep that morning, but he also couldn’t concentrate in his lectures. All he could think of was the music he heard. Besides the few slip ups, the music was beautifully composed, but it also didn't sound like a familiar classical piece. He wondered if his neighbor was merely improvising.

 

The next night he curiously came back to his balcony, just to hear his neighbor already playing. He listened all night until it stopped.

 

The next few times, he brought a book onto the balcony with him. It was a peaceful way to relax from the stress of college, and it gave him the opportunity to catch up on something he rather did enjoy- reading.

 

Soon, this became part of his daily routine. He made this strictly a place for relaxation, so he never let himself bring homework to the balcony. He listened most nights until his neighbor had gone back inside, and sometimes even fell asleep beforehand in his little plastic lawn chair. It was nasty on his back.

 

It was now Mid-November, and the chill of winter was afloat. Enjolras brought out a blanket and warm mug of hazelnut coffee with him tonight. 

 

However, there was no music.

 

It was completely silent above him, and so Enjolras figured it was an early night in tonight for his neighbor.

 

The next night he came out again and it was silent once again. Strange, he thought, but worried no further.

 

Enjolras soon came to see himself venturing out on his balcony every night, expecting music to play for him. The thought made him sick to his stomach. Somehow, he had classically trained himself in a way of expecting his neighbor to play music for him. Now that he wasn’t, Enjolras was instinctively upset over it. He hated himself for that.

 

Yet still he came out every night. It was instinctual now. The atmosphere comforted him, even if it felt vaguely empty of something.

 

It was another week until he finally heard something.

 

His mug of coffee was half empty when he heard the slamming of sliding doors. And shuffling footsteps.

 

“You’re going to die if you stay out here forever.” A female voice. She must be addressing his neighbor.

 

“I don’t care.” A thickly accented voice came back. It was ragged and sounded broken. Enjolras probably shouldn’t be listening to this.

 

“Sitting out here and starving yourself won’t bring your mom back.” The girl said harshly.

 

“I didn’t say it would.”

 

“Well, what good is it to sit out here and wallow in your own pity when you can be doing something?”

 

“It feels pointless, Ep. Everything is just irrelevant.”

 

“So what? That doesn’t mean you should let this turn you into a dying plant.” A pause. “I know it sucks, but you can still go see her again.”

 

“I haven't got the money.”

 

“Well, you have to work to get money.”

 

“By doing what, eponine? Selling my shitty art? Serving bean juice to every blue collar asshole in a suit at 6 am? I barely get paid enough to live here, let alone book a plane back to Italy. I’m stuck here in a country I hate, with no one that I love.” There's another pause, this one feeling more tense.

 

“I understand that,” the girl says through what sounds like gritted teeth, “but your mom would want you to do you best. Isn’t that why you came here?”

 

“Yeah, we came here for a new start for her, too. And even with all these opportunities, I still have no talents, skills, money, or education. I can’t even make my own mother proud!” A stifled sob erupts. “And now I’ve lost her. My one person. She’s my only inspiration.”

 

“R, you have us, your friends.”

 

“That’s different. You have your own lives. She is my whole heart. She is my only person. I’m too ugly for romantic love, that's what the universe cursed me with, but I don't care! Because she was always there for me.”

 

Enjolras feels the prickle of tears in his eyes as he listens to the man above him sob.

 

“I miss her so much, ‘ponine.”

 

A sigh. “I know.”

  
  


Enjolras continued to think about the conversation he had heard all week. On Friday, he opens up his laptop and searches up ‘deportation laws in America’. After hours of reading through various different articles and websites, he becomes outraged.

 

It takes only a half hour after Enjolras is done that Combeferre knocks on his door. He holds up a flyer that says ‘SUPPORT FAIR HOUSING FOR LEGAL IMMIGRANTS’ with a curious expression.

 

“How did you know it was me?” Enjolras asked surprised.

 

“You’re the only person on campus who would use Times New Roman recreationally.” Combeferre answers. He lets himself in, placing the flyer on the counter and turning back to Enjolras. “Now what the hell are you doing and how can I help.”

 

It's not long before all of their friends hear word and everyone meets in front of the campus library for a peaceful protest. They wield signs and shout for hours, but very few people join in. Bahorel asks if they can meet up before the next one to coordinate their chants more. Joly requests that there be snacks, specifically gummy snacks and orange juice.

 

And somehow, this is how Enjolras forms his very first club. He calls it Les Amis, as in ‘the friends’. His advisor approves of the idea and agrees to be the club advisor. They meet every tuesday and Friday at 7pm in an old classroom of the business building. Marius chose the room. Even though Enjolras insists on a democratized vote, his presidency is unanimous. Combeferre humbly accepts the role of vice president. Courfeyrac wins as secretary, Marius as treasurer, and Feuilly as historian.

 

The club plans different ways to approach the issues in society because of the government. They all vote on a specific topic every two weeks and must come up with a way to spark their change. Enjolras encourages everyone to invite friends, but only Marius seems to oblige.

 

Marius one day introduces Enjolras to a dark haired pale girl name Eponine. Her voice sounds familiar. She doesn't shake his hand, but offers to help with whatever “sea turtle saving gimmick  you guys do.” Enjolras assures her that the club isn’t just about the abuse of animals, but she’s already walked away by this point.

 

By the end of the first semester, Les Amis had managed to raise enough money to put together food packs for underprivileged and poor children in the area. Enjolras feels fulfilled for once.

 

He hasn’t written a word since October.

 

Its a couple days before Christmas, and Enjolras decides to wrap himself up in a sweatshirt and some blankets to brave his balcony. Luckily, the area he lived in never seemed to snow. However, this didn’t stop his fingers from practically freezing off.

 

He sits in content silence until he hears a door slide open. Soft footsteps and some shuffling around and then silence again. Enjolras leans against the railing.

 

Then, strumming.

 

And then, singing.

 

“Hold me close and hold me fast   
The magic spell you cast   
This is La Vie En Rose,

When you kiss me heaven sighs   
And though I close my eyes   
I see La Vie En Rose,   
When you press me to your heart   
I'm in a world apart   
A world where roses bloom,   
And when you speak angels sing from above   
Everyday words seem to turn into love songs.   
Give your heart and soul to me   
And life will always be   
La Vie En Rose”

 

Although the sorrow is apparent through the song, his voice never falters once. Enjolras think he might almost say something, but all too soon he hears the sliding door close.

  
  


It's the first meeting of Les Amis in Enjolras’ last semester. Actually, except for a couple people, the majority of the members of Les Amis are seniors. Enjolras wonders throughout the meeting if this club is going to die after graduation. He wonders suddenly if this had all been for nothing. He didn’t want Les Amis to be merely a hangout. For once, Enjolras had a purpose and he couldn’t lose it.

 

“I need to change my major.”

 

Dr Blue gaped at him. “You what?”

 

“I don’t want to do English. I can’t write a novel, I have no purpose in this field.” He sat down in her office as she continued to gape at him. “I want to declare Political Science as my major.”

  
  


“You did what?” Cosette’s voice shrieked through the phone.

 

“I know it’s definitely the worst time to change my mind”

 

“You think?”

 

“-but I can’t get anywhere with English.” Enjolras knew his sister would be upset, but he had also assumed that it would be because of the money. “I’ve been saving up a lot, I can last another 3 years. Plus, I can do summer and winter classes. It’ll be fine.”

 

“Enjolras!” She huffed over the line. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I thought you were writing a novel. You had an internship! I dont want you to have wasted your young adult years.”

 

“You’re two years younger than me.” He pointed out. “And anyways, who cares about the past? I wanna make a change in the world, Cos. It’s taken me so long to realize my purpose, but I’ve finally got it.”

 

She was silent for a while, to the point where Enjolras thought she might’ve hung up. “Alright. I guess it’s pretty cool too that we’ll both graduate at the same time.” Cosette started her Dual major in International Studies and Communications/Journalism in the fall.

 

“Then I can make sure to keep you in line.” She joked. Enjolras chuckled.

  
  


And so, the Enjolras’ education continued in a new direction, as well as the Les Amis. It grew in not just members, but also knowledge as time went on and Enjolras grew a better understanding for politics and laws. Les Amis grew into a huge political club on campus, and their meetings moved from a small and dusty classroom, to the huge cafe in the central building on campus. Enjolras made sure that everyone felt welcomed and heard throughout the club. Everything was going great.

 

At nights, he still listened to the musician above him, singing and playing his various instruments. At one point, he had even composed a version of ‘stay with me’ on the triangle. It was an interesting performance.

 

Enjolras sometimes went to the floor above his, and stared at the door labeled 403. He resists the urge to knock. He resists the urge to tell this man of how he has changed Enjolras’ life so drastically for the better. He tries not to wonder if his mother ever had come back to the country. He always goes back to his apartment, and forgets the musician.

 

It’s his second year running Les Amis when Cosette and Marius announce their relationship. Of course, Enjolras knew from the first time he saw them lock eyes, but everyone else seems taken aback. Enjolras doesn’t give Marius a talk, but makes sure to give him a look that says ‘I am perfectly fine going to prison for first degree murder’.

 

What really surprises him is when Courfeyrac and Combeferre announce their relationship a week later. Somehow, Enjolras is almost moved to tears to see the love between his two best friends. Les Amis was always considered a safe place, and so after their announcement, many others in the club announced their LGBT positions. Eponine came out as bisexual, Feuilly stammered his way through a speech about asexuality, Jehan came out as nonbinary, Joly cheerfully proclaimed his love for Bossuet and Musichetta followed by their repetition of the same. The campus did not have a SGA, so Les Amis became a part of that. It was a club for friends, after all. 

  
  


Enjolras was suddenly at another point in his life where he didn’t seem to know himself at all. He hadn’t thought of sexuality since gay marriage became legal 3 years ago. Was this a time where he would come out, too? What would he even come out as? Gay? Bisexual? Demisexual?

 

He felt a weight rested on his shoulders once again, like he had the year before he changed his major. Something was missing, but he wasn’t sure what. He had never thought of love in the forefront of his brain before. He had always been about the future, and what he could make of it. What if he had someone there to share it with?

 

Before he knew it, Enjolras grew into a depression in the winter of his second junior year.

 

Enjolras had always done things himself. He had never needed anyone there by his side. If he needed company, he had his friends. So why was he all of a sudden so lonely?

 

His friends were all out with their loved ones on friday nights, and he retreated back to his balcony, depending on a musical symphony from above to put him to sleep before he could dwell any more on how alone he was.

 

This time, music man was strumming an acoustic guitar. The notes sounded familiar, but Enjolras didn’t recognize the song until he heard the words.

 

“Got no feel, I got no rhythm   
I just keep losing my beat 

I'm OK, I'm alright 

I ain't gonna face no defeat 

I just gotta get out of this prison cell   
One day I'm gonna be free, Lord”

 

Somebody to love.

 

For once, Enjolras didn’t just sympathize with his neighbor. He felt the same way. 

 

Curling up under his blanket, Enjolras cried softly, trying to stay quiet as to not give away his presence to the man playing above.

 

When the song was finished, there was no sound of movement. Enjolras dared not to move. Normally his neighbor would go back inside after he was done playing. He wondered if he should say something. Maybe he should. But not here.

 

Enjolras stood up and made his way back inside his own apartment. He didn’t even bother with shoes, wandering outside his apartment and to the elevator. He had never been above his floor, before.

 

The elevator door opened and he stepped out tentatively. He made his way to the apartment that would be right above his. He knocks softly on the door.

 

“One minute!” A voice shouts from inside. He hears a television and a couple people chattering. Did he pick the wrong one? Maybe he shouldn’t be up here in his barefoot with a blanket wrapped around him. Let alone how bad his hair probably looks now.

A tall, stocky man with a buzzcut answers the door. Somehow, Enjolras thinks he got the number wrong.

 

“Had to grab my wallet, but here you go-” The man looks up and sees Enjolras. “Oh, you don’t look like the pizza man.”

 

Enjolras feels trapped. What does he do? He’s definitely not the pizza man.

 

“Did they forget R’s sauces, Bahorel?” A shout comes from inside the apartment from another guy. A girl’s voice accompanies him.

 

“He loves his dips, you gotta tell them to go back and get them.” There’s fits of giggles. 

 

The man, whom Enjolras guesses is Bahorel, gestures vaguely at him. “Can I help you?” Enjolras didn’t know what to say. He was choking up.

 

“Leave him alone, it’s not his fault he can’t stand eating your bland cardboard chicken.”

 

“Oh come on, he’s out on the balcony. Plus, you know he’d love to take this opportunity to heckle the wings guy anyway.”

 

“S-sorry, I think I got the wrong apartment.” Enjolras turns on his heel and makes way for the elevator. He makes it there quickly, but feels a pang of guilt when he hears Bahorel call after him, “Hey, wait!”

 

Enjolras doesn’t even breathe until he’s back in his apartment again. He even locks the door for good measure. He’s tempted to go back out on the balcony, but decides against so and heads straight for his bed instead.

 

So then he had friends over. They all called him “R”. He wondered what R could stand for. Richard? Ryan? He imagined it’d be something more foreign sounding. Ricardo? Enjolras drifts off thinking of names that start with R.

 

The days go on. He goes to classes, tutoring hours, Les Amis, then back to his apartment. His professors seem mad at him, probably because he doesn’t ask questions anymore. He looks back at his lecture notes and can’t seem to read them. It’s basically like reading through a random word generator.

 

So he doesn’t study. He barely writes papers. He ends up blowing off tutoring. His only commitment that he’s held onto is Les Amis. Somehow, standing up and taking charge against the wrongs held in society gives him the slightest bit of joy. Enjolras always thought throughout his life that he didn’t need someone to be happy. He had himself.

 

Well, the universe is apparently against him. He loves his friends, all of them, so much. He appreciates them all, but he can’t help feeling them rub their relationships in his face. Courf and Ferre slyly holding hands as they walk and sit down. Musichetta and Bossuet kissing Joly’s cheeks and giggling in the corner. Marius’ impeccable ability to generate obnoxious pet names. It was all making him too sad, even though he knew none of them were doing it on purpose.

 

That’s why it was Monday evening, and Enjolras was struggling to find the will to get out of bed. He told himself earlier in the day that he would get up, shower, and head over early on campus. Instead, he took a 3 hour bath, fell asleep in the bath, and then woke up just to crawl back in bed. Maybe he should see a doctor. Of maybe when spring comes, he’ll feel better. He knew seasonal depression was a thing. Maybe it was just that.

 

His phone buzzed.

 

“Hello?” His voice croaked and he inwardly shuddered.

 

“Where are you buddy?” Courf’s voice came in loud through the phone. There were many voices in the background, like he was at a concert or something.

 

“Uhhh, on my way, just..” He couldn’t think of an excuse.

 

“It’s alright, I know you were probably writing some great paper about the French Revolutionary war or something” Courf laughed, and Enjolras forced himself to do the same.  “But hurry up, okay? We’re lost without our fearless leader.”

 

After hanging up, Enjolras groaned, but dragged himself out of bed. He forced himself into presentable clothes, and sorted his hair out. He didn’t want to go, especially if there were so many people, but Courf was right. He was their president, so he needed to be there for them. He had to be there for them.

 

When Enjolras got to the meeting, the whole room was packed. All the tables and chairs were taken, and there were quite a lot of people standing. He made his way to the front, and started. He mostly let Ferre and Marius take over for the session. Ferre gave him an odd look but continued on. When anyone asked for his opinion on something, he gave more a moderate answer than what he normally does. He felt guilty of letting everyone down, but he couldn’t help it. He just didn’t care all that much tonight.

 

After the meeting officially ended, Enjolras hurried to make his leave. He didn’t want any leering questioning for Courf or Ferre. They definitely knew something was up. He was almost to the door when someone stopped him.

 

“Hey Enjolras, I want you to meet someone.” Eponine said, and her eyes made it seem like he had not other choice. He doesn’t mess with Eponine. With her was a shorter guy, with olive skin and dark features.

 

“This is Grantaire.” She said, and the guy waved.

 

“Hi.” Enjolras said distractedly. He missed his bed. “Did you enjoy the meeting?”

 

“No, not really.”

 

“Grea-” Enjolras stopped in his tracks. “Wait, you didn’t?”

 

The guy, Grantaire, shrugged. “It was kinda boring.”

 

Somehow, this infuriated Enjolras. “Is the huge amount of global poverty and starvation boring to you?”

 

“No, but I know we can’t really do anything about it.” His lips formed a suppressed grin, and Enjolras knew he was being heckled. However, he was still going to take the bait.

 

“Actually, there’s a lot we can do about it.” Enjolras started. His voice raised as he went on until everyone was listening to him. “The idea that we are useless in this democratized society is just what has been pressed into our heads by the government. There are many things we can do to stop this issue. This government was made to be fixed, and we will fix it, so long as everyone agrees on what is just and right and believes that we can fix our future.”

 

There was a pause. He realized all eyes in the room were on them two. He didn’t care. He stared into hazel eyes, narrowing his own. 

 

“Do you believe?”

 

Grantaire smiled, a soft and warm smile. Enjolras stood his ground.

 

“I guess I believe in you, chief.”


End file.
